


Twins? (...maybe not)

by IrinyaClockworker



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga), Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angry Russian Blonds, Crossover, Gen, Ice Skating, One Shot, Russian Mello, there was a plot but it got thrown out halfway through, we're not here for plots we're here for angry Russian boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 04:26:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17318063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrinyaClockworker/pseuds/IrinyaClockworker
Summary: While investigating a rival group's suspicious good fortune, Mello comes across an unexpected coincidence.





	Twins? (...maybe not)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silencvial](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silencvial/gifts).



> Happy birthday, my friend! :) May this year bring you all the things you could possibly ask for. (I can't handle all your wishes, but this one, at least...)

There’s too much _noise_ in here, too many people chattering and moving around, and it’s starting to get maddening. He’s trying to _think,_ but the noise is getting in the way. None of these people are _purposefully_ being an inconvenience, but that doesn’t mean he’s not still a little bit ticked off. Well, more than just a little bit, if he’s honest.

The woman he’s here for sits at a table with her colleagues, the others who will be judging this competition. Short, dark hair, dark eyes that move suspiciously--so this is Valerie Lundquist, the one he’s been sent to observe. Supposedly she’s been helping to rig competitions--altering scores enough to give the group she’s affiliated with an edge up in gambling. Figure skating isn’t an area one might expect there to be such a thing, but then again, maybe that’s the purpose of it. If it’s unexpected, why look for it? It’s far easier to chalk it up to coincidence. 

He doesn’t believe in coincidence, and he never will. It’s too simple, too clean, when in reality the world is neither of those things. It is messy like the scene of a crime, all blood and brain matter, passion or premeditation, but not coincidence. Never coincidence.

No, he’s quite certain this is planned, and the rival group behind it is getting far too wealthy as a result. That’s too risky. He can’t let it continue. Ross’s group _needs_ to stay on top--he refuses to go through the transfer process again. Once is more than enough.

So here he is, waiting for the competition to start--he doesn’t know that much about skating, but he can pick it up quickly. _One of the benefits of being a bona-fide, straight-out-of-Wammy’s ‘genius’,_ he thinks dryly. _At the very least, you pick stuff up fast._ He may not know anything about this now, but he will soon enough.

Sure enough, once everything actually starts, things fall into place pretty quickly. He’s good at noticing patterns, and it’s easy to associate certain details with certain techniques. There’s a lot of importance placed on the edge of the skate’s blade, and he pays close attention to each routine, noting scores and the differences he can find.

And he can tell, she’s _definitely_ altering scores. It’s not _too_ obvious, a few shaved points here or there, but it’s _there._ It _could_ be a mistake… but that’s too simple. It’s too _easy._ And the money trail says otherwise. In a business filled with lies, he’s learned to trust money. 

“Yuri Plisetsky,” he hears, and his mind snaps into focus on _that--Plisetsky, that’s a Russian name. Like Aleksandr, or Mikhail._ How long has it been… How long has it been since he’s seen his home? Wammy’s House found him when he was eight, and since then… he can’t count the years. At least six, but after that awful December, time as a whole started to lose much of its meaning. It’s been too long, that’s all he truly knows.

The name makes him feel… almost homesick.

When the skater’s face appears, though, is when he truly freezes--it’s like looking in a funhouse mirror, at a slightly distorted version of himself. Short blond hair cut into a neat bob, hard, determined eyes, a delicate dancer’s figure that outdoes Mello’s own, looking far too fragile, though it’s obvious that he’s in excellent shape. Still, he’s all slopes and soft curves instead of angles and sharp edges, to the point that Mello’s _quite_ certain that this boy is mistaken for a girl even more often than Mello himself. 

His eyes are hard flint and smoldering flame, and the set of his jaw as he moves onto the ice is one of pure determination. It doesn’t seem like their similarities are only physical… this performance promises to be an interesting one.

From somewhere else in the room, he hears a firm voice calling out. “ _Davai,_ Yuri!” The skater turns to glance at the crowd, then responds to the voice with a thumbs-up, straightening up slightly as a tiny smile plays across his face.

“ _Davai,_ ” Mello whispers, and smiles himself. Yuri seems to be a lot like him, but he hopes one thing will be different.

Unlike him, perhaps Yuri has what it takes to win.

The music begins, and for a moment, he forgets what he’s here for, only watching this slight, paled reflection of himself on the ice. Yuri moves with a delicacy and grace that has never, could never belong in Mello’s world, but at the same time, there’s a certain power in the way that he skates, a power that has everyone silenced aside from quiet whispers. He almost looks more alive on the ice, no, _more than_ alive. More like a spirit of some sort than a human being--one of the rusalki from old stories, he thinks, smiling a bit. He’s always had a tendency for overdramatic descriptions and overblown metaphors, and it looks like that hasn’t diminished with time.

The routine is beautiful, and he’s almost sad when it’s over--but he _does_ have a job to do, and that doesn’t involve sitting here watching a boy who just happens to look like him, who is from Russia like him--he wonders, for a moment, where Yuri grew up, before stopping himself. That sort of idle thought will get him exactly nowhere.

By the time it’s all over, he’s absolutely certain that scores are being altered. It doesn’t seem like much, which is probably why she’s been able to keep mostly unnoticed--but it adds up. The only question now is, what is he going to do about it?

He _could_ be forgiving and let her off with just a warning. He’s in a good mood today, and just roughing her up a bit might be enough to make sure she gets the message. Chances are that she’s being pressured into it somehow, and he might be able to end things without too much bloodshed for once… after all, he has plenty of resources at his disposal.

He’s leaning against a wall and pondering his options when he hears an obnoxiously cheerful voice calling out.

“Hey, Yurio!” There’s a silver-haired man in front of him now, smiling in a way that automatically puts Mello on edge. He has a lot of difficulty trusting people who are _this_ cheerful--it’s more often than not a facade, in his experience. And he doesn’t know this man, so he’s really just annoyed at being disturbed. When he looks up, he’s already glaring, making the smile falter for a very brief moment. “Ah, you’re not Yurio… sorry, sorry! I was looking for someone else,” he continues, looking somewhat sheepish. 

“It’s fine,” Mello replies curtly, though he really just wants this man to _leave._ Instead, he keeps staring, his eyes moving back and forth to the point that Mello can’t help but want to start shouting at him. “Is there something you--”

“Hey, where the hell were you, old man?” Another Russian-accented voice cuts him off, and he can’t help but appreciate the sound of it--it’s not absurdly cheerful, either, so it doesn’t make him feel like he’s going to go completely insane if he hears too much more of it. “Were you not even watching? You--”

“Yurio, look, I found your twin!” the silver-haired man exclaims, turning to the person who’s now standing next to them-- _oh._

So ‘Yurio’ is actually Yuri Plisetsky.

Now that he’s up close, there are more obvious differences between the two of them--Yuri’s hair is a few shades lighter, and his eyes are green in contrast to Mello’s blue, much more like the eyes of the man who now stands glancing between them excitedly. 

“Twin? I don’t see it,” Yuri pronounces, sounding as annoyed with the man’s antics as Mello is. “So he’s blond. Lots of people are. Cut the crap, Viktor. Were you watching or not?” His eyes slide over to meet Mello’s, and the sheer exasperation in them is almost funny. It seems like their temperaments might be quite similar, as well…

“I don’t know about him,” Mello interrupts, and allows his own accent to flavor his words, mostly ignoring the way that the man--Viktor--brightens up slightly as soon as he catches the unmistakable sound. “But I was. You were excellent.”

“Yeah, well, apparently not excellent _enough,_ ” Yuri spits, “because I _didn’t win._ ”

“You deserved to,” Mello replies, almost wanting to smile at the irony. No, not irony-- _coincidence._ To think he’d have such evidence for it--because that’s all it can be, this strange occurrence, it can only be called a coincidence.

“Well, of course I did!” Yuri snaps, before adding a muttered, “At least _someone_ understands that.” For a moment, behind the anger, Mello hears a bit of pain. Or is it his imagination? Maybe he’s just projecting his own gnawing feelings onto this almost disturbingly similar boy. Maybe it’s all in his head. Or, maybe, Yuri is just like him.

“Yurio,” another voice calls, this one accented in Japanese, and Mello feels the need to take a step back--but he stops, because he’s curious, curious about who and what else this boy has in his life. There’s a dark-haired man there now, wide brown eyes and glasses, smiling. Who’s this?

Not someone Yuri seems particularly fond of, judging by the fact that his immediate reply is “piss off, Katsudon, I don’t want your pity.” There’s only a look of faint amusement on the man’s face in response to that, but then his eyes slide over to Mello, and the amusement grows.

“Yurio, I didn’t know you had a twin,” he says with a gleam in his eyes, at which point Yuri just scoffs.

“You too? He doesn’t even look like me, I don’t see what the big deal is! I mean, look at him! He’s all…” The other boy pauses as if looking for the words, before finally exclaiming, “Just _look!_ His body type’s too different, his hair’s darker than mine, he’s all… _lines._ That’s what it is! He’s all _lines!_ You could probably get a paper cut off of him! At least he’s got a decent fashion sense, though,” he adds a moment later, turning and eyeing Mello’s clothing with obvious interest. “Nice _coat._ I wonder if I could--”

“Yurio, you are like a son to me,” the silver-haired man declares, “and it is as such that I must inform you that if you think you are going to come up with another routine and costume like _that one,_ you are sorely mistaken.”

“Shut up,” Yuri grumbles. “I just wanted to use the design, that’s all…”

“You don’t know how much pain I was in to see that,” the man exclaims with far, _far_ too much emotion for Mello to believe it. “Young, innocent Yurio, dressed like--no, it’s too horrible, I can’t even say it! You see what he puts me through?” he adds, looking at Mello almost pleadingly.

Mello stares back, unimpressed. For one thing, he has no clue what this guy’s even talking about. For another thing, he’s not sure he cares. He looks at Yuri instead, and is somewhat amused by the fact that he can see his own exasperation reflected in the boy’s face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says dismissively.

“Perhaps that’s for the best,” the rather dramatic man declares. “That horrific day will never leave my mind. I’m forever scarred.”

“Viktor, don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit?” the more nervous man says with a tiny laugh, at which point the silver-haired one--Viktor, then--simply looks betrayed. “Yurio just happens to like the style, and it’s not like we didn’t know that… it’s basically just his clothes with less… patterns. I don’t think he’s going to wear anything like _that_ again.”

Mello can’t help but wonder what on earth they’re talking about, but he’s almost afraid to ask.

“You can’t _stop_ me, if I want to,” Yuri says with no small amount of disagreeableness. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not falling over myself to get your attention anymore, old man--”

Only a moment later, however, his eyes go wide with what seems to be fear as a high-pitched voice calls out--and then another, and another, and _another._

_“Yuratchka~!”_

“You really think he looks like my twin?” he asks in a concerningly rushed voice, glancing at Viktor.

“If you’re not paying too close attention--”

“Great! Thanks! See you later,” he practically shouts, and before Mello is entirely certain of what’s going on, the other boy has vanished.

And so, he realizes, have the other two.

He doesn’t have much time left to process the events before he’s being crushed beneath a pile of screaming teenage girls, and begins to realize that Yuri has taken advantage of their resemblance.

He can’t help but laugh at that, when he thinks about it afterwards. Taking advantage of the situation and his surroundings so easily…

Mello doesn’t often find himself feeling any sort of fondness towards others, but he can’t help but like this Yuri Plisetsky.

_Davai, Yuri. Hopefully at least one of us can reach a victory._

And from then on, he makes sure to pay a little more attention to figure skating.


End file.
